The Labors of Momon Magnus
by Henupenko
Summary: "Forget it; this is much better than being challenged to a fight while they yell, 'give Nabe-san back her freedom' That guy hurt his hand after hitting me. But what happened to that guy after that?"–Momon, from Overlord Drama CD 2. A short story detailing the events that led up to the aforementioned incident.
1. Chapter 1

**Prologue**

The night sky was a gloom of dark clouds, and a cold wind was spreading across the land. Earth itself seemed to grab hold of his feet as he failed to keep his balance. He fell face first to the ground but rose just as quickly, not once pausing to inspect the thin stripes of blood that sprawled across his cheeks. He ran through wooded areas, through the plains and hills as the first droplets of rain crashed against his battered body.

 _Mercy,_ he sobbed. _Please, mercy._

From behind came a sound that curdled his blood and turned his bowls to water. Never had he heard such a noise. None of them had. Now, it all but plagued his soul and made his instincts erupt into a frenzied state of terror. Death. You will die if you stop, his mind screamed at him.

 _Please, please._

When he finally dared to glance back over his shoulder, he saw their shadows, great beasts of slaughter that dwarfed every living thing in memory.

 _Oh, Gods! Please! Please!_

They were mere shadows, some part of him knew. But he could not stop his senses from breathing life into them. Blood dripped from their mouths black as night. Long appendages of pure muscles thrust back and forth in the air as if angry at the world and everything in it. These things bore no love for him, he knew. Every stride of their hoofed legs brought them closer, each step a massive blow to the earth and all of her creatures. He tried to run faster, but his legs refused to obey. They had given it all and now began to succumb to fatigue. Ahead all he could see were the visages of the men that had since parted the world. And they were all laughing at him, taunting him. They sneered at his efforts to escape the fate that had consumed them all. A putrid smell made his throat burn. He knew the stench well, a stink of flesh, blood, and ruptured intestines laden with feces. The thought of it alone caused him to vomit through his clenched teeth, all the while he shook his head at the faces before him.

 _You're all dead, dead. I saw the monsters kill you all;_ he tried to shout, _I saw your bodies turned to mush, and your heads explode under their sheer weight! I'm not like you! Please, grant me mercy,_ he tried to shout. However, upon opening his mouth, only vomit came rushing from the depths of his throat.

And while he chocked and stumbled, another noise managed to pierce through the night. It was a sound that was different from the one before. For a moment the echo of flesh being forced down unto the earth by the engines of carnage was lost. Instead, what he heard was almost soothing, almost normal. Then he remembered what lay behind him. His life flashed in an instant—all of his victories, his failures, and the people in his life that he would never see again. They all appeared before him as if to bid him farewell.

And disappear they did, for what came next haunted his very being, leaving him a screaming mess as his legs finally gave way.

It was the sound of imminent destruction.

"MEEEEEEEEHHHHHHHH!"

"Stop! Stay away!" He finally managed to yell at the top of his lungs, as he lay crumpled on the ground, a mixture of drool and vomit foaming at the corners of his mouth. He tried his best to crawl away, but it was no use. The shadows in his mind had crept but a few feet away.

In a final act born out of pure desperation, he prayed to the one person alive that could deliver him from this great evil.

He was a man of grand exploits.

—A dark knight

—A hero among heroes

—A living legend

 _A man I wronged,_ he cried. Though his foolish actions towards this great person came to the forefront of his mind, it did not stop him from calling out. But then the shadows overtook him, and his last conscious thoughts were of the would-be savior, of simpler times, and of how everything had gone wrong.

* * *

 _Some time prior…_

"Two Skeletal Dragons and an army of undead," said Cassander. He snatched a withered peach off the ground and tossed it from hand to hand.

"So they say. Now, throw the peach," urged Eras the ranger. He slipped an arrow from his quiver and nocked it to his bowstring.

"I've never seen a Skeletal Dragon. Can they even fly or breathe fire?" Crispus was the youngest among them, a clumsy boy just a few months shy of having reached manhood. "I would like to have seen them, but not as much as the scuffle with the vampire."

"The beautiful princess is whom I want to see. I heard she's as graceful as a swan but more ferocious than any dragon when stirred," added Jugurtha with a smile. _And I should very much like to sleep in her den and plunder all that I can,_ he thought, as he shifted restlessly on the small, wooden bench. A long time had transpired since he last bedded a woman. By the fortnight they would arrive in E-Rantel, perhaps then a visit to Honey of Amber or Purple Apothecary will do good to satiate his pent-up frustrations. Neither had any princesses on their roster of women, but he would make sure to pay them a royal visit nonetheless.

 _My purse is fat with coin, and there's nothing like a good whore to suck it dry._

They could hear Julia's laughter from above, coming through shuttered windows and mingled with the stressed voice of the man she meant to entertain.

 _Poor fool sounds like's he's about to pass out._

Julia was the youngest wench at the Oyster, a mid-size tavern in the small city between Re-Estize and E-Pespel that failed to serve its namesake but offered an array of other services to their guests. Ripe at fifteen and her maidenhead still intact, Julia was the Oyster's crowned jewel, a pearl that everyone wanted to claim first with no success. Jugurtha had tried in the past. He had saved the amount of coin she had demanded and even paid her in advance being none the wiser. It wasn't until the blindfold came off that he realized the person that mounted him was some other lowly servant girl. All the while Julia stood in the corner, counting her coin, laughing at his bewilderment like a mischievous child.

"I said you were in for the night of your life," she began, giggling even as his face became hot with anger. "Pray recall I never said it would be on my behalf, for what am I if not a proper lady?"

 _The bastard upstairs fell for it too; no way that bitch would surrender her virginity to a sixty-year-old fossil. Well, maybe if he had more coin than there are rocks on the earth…maybe._

"Beautiful Princess?" Crispus echoed, not in the least bit impressed. "Why would you want to see her? Was it not the dark hero who slew the Skeletal Dragons? I'd rather see him and hear first hand how he managed to beat them without any magical support. Ah, if he could teach me his sword skills that would be amazing. I would beg and plead if need be."

"You're too low on the ladder to ask him anything, boy," Numidicus, the cleric, told Crispus. Numidicus wore a leather strap diagonally across his chest, underneath lay broiled leather armor with a morning star strapped to his side. His brown boots and gloves consisted of fine cotton and a mesh of cold steel and cheap iron. A bushy beard hid his mouth and chin, a black curtain that only parted ways to show his pearly, white teeth. "And you wouldn't want to be anywhere near those fights when they broke out, less you perish as well. You're too young and weak compared to the likes of them. Learn to know your place in the world, for it may rest on others stronger than you to remind you of it."

"Lay off the lad, nothing wrong with a little curiosity at his age. Better to have an interest in monsters and adventuring than women and whoring. Gods know that's all Jugartha thinks about day and night. The world would do well to nurture that passion for discovery. Boy want's to become an adventurer, after all," said Cassander.

"Throw the peach," Eras urged again. He was a young, comely man, their ranger. Many young women doted on him—even Julia. She would gently stroke his back when she served them drink and bread, much to Jugurtha's chagrin.

Said worker would gnash his teeth and pretend that it didn't bother him. For he suspected Julia knew he was watching her. _She knows how to sway her hips and pucker her lips to make my blood burn. A temptress that has no intention of going beyond foreplay or teasing, with an attitude to boot, Gods help the poor soul that ends up trying to court that wench._

"The boy knows not what he wants. There are no real _adventures,_ just plated, private soldiers of the guild for hire. They're more akin to workers than they wish to admit, and it's important that the boy realizes that," said Numidicus doggedly. "Only fools are disillusioned by their profession after they have dedicated their life to it."

"The _peach,_ " Eras said. "Or do you plan to eat it, rotten as it is with worms and all?"

"Two silver coins if you don't disappoint me." Planting his left foot firmly before pushing upward, Cassander took a small leap, turned in midair, and whipped the peach sidearm into the night and towards the plains. He had the strength of two regular men, with thick arms and broad shoulders. The peach disappeared into the darkness, flying fast and far. Though not faster than the arrow, for the meter-long shaft of black wood and golden feathers whistled after it. Cassander did not see what happened next, but he heard it as clear as Julia's laughter. A soft _pop_ echoed back through the sky, followed by a thud as the combined mass fell to earth.

Cassander whistled. "Nice, we'll be sure to ward off any malevolent peaches that come our way. Good eye."

 _Though not as good as Julia's hazel orbs or budding breasts,_ Jugurtha mused, her laughter now subsided. _I should have been born a prince, or a wealthy nobleman. I would ride a white mare and sweep Julia off her feet, and then she would beg to have me take her as my wife._

One late evening at the Oyster, after a successful job and tankards of strong wine, Jugurtha had boasted that he wouldn't remain a worker for long. "I won't always be just another grunt, taking orders from fat aristocrats perched on their cushioned thrones," he had shouted. "Sure enough," the angry landlord had called out. "You'll be a _former_ worker, herding cows and plowing through dung."

 _I'll buy this place and send that old man packing._

He drained his tankard clean of liquid. The torch-lit terrace of the Oyster was a beacon of light amongst many in the sea of darkness that surrounded the small city. Up the street, he could spy the chateau used by the mayor of the city, its lights burned even brighter than the Oyster's, though it did little to ease his bitterness.

"Say, shouldn't your friend have come back by now?" Crispus inquired.

"Our leader? Not a chance, the mayor will greet her and make a show of dining her before they get down to business," declared Cassander, a grin on his face. "He may even ask her to spend the night, you know. We may have to wait until morning, at this rate."

"I-Is that so?" The boy blushed, the tip of his ears a bright red as he struggled to banish inappropriate thoughts from his mind. For it was not an honorable thing to do, he mused. "Is this a common practice amongst workers—to meet the client in private I mean? I know adventurers have the guild serving as an intermediary between their clients…do workers not have a similar system?"

"Workers have no masters," declared Jugurtha, too loudly, startling the boy.

"The guild limits what its members can do," offered Eras, who had collected his prize from his comrade. "It's a lot easier to set the rules yourself and make a living that way. You can list your price and undercut the competition. So, if you want to make money, a worker is the better occupation."

"…But what about ensuring the people's safety?"

"We do that too if the price is right," agreed Cassander.

Numidicus nodded in satisfaction. "Indeed, listen well boy. If you do not wish to do as we do, then your calling is elsewhere. But know this, to be an adventurer is to have a job, simple as that. Everyone is in it for the money. It's best if you forget all the fancy stories you heard as a child."

"But, surely not everyone is like that! True heroes do exist! Take the Skeletal Dragons as an example! I heard the dark hero saved the entire city from the undead! Surely that has to count for something! What copper plate would rush into such danger if he did not have a heroic spirit at heart!?" Crispus shouted in defiance. He had hoped to hear stories of valor from these workers, of heroes and great triumphs. However, all they seemed to care about was monetary gain, and he did not take the constant jabs at his worldview as honest attempts at humor.

"Stupid brat. Your hero had the Wise King of the Forest by his side, a beast of great strength and prowess when he faced the dragons. And he only defeated the vampire thanks to a rare item. If you think about it in those terms, it's clear what sort of person he is. Yeah, that's right. The _dark hero_ is just a charlatan with an inflated ego. Just a man in fancy armor with the right tools on hand at the right time." Jugurtha explained, clearly irate and in no mood to continue the charade. He grew more stubborn as he drank. Though even when he was sober, he was considered to be thick-skulled. "All speak of dragons, vampires, and _heroes,_ bah, a bunch of bloated rumors if you ask me. No doubt the guild is getting a kick out of it though, wouldn't be surprised if they were the ones who orchestrated the whole thing. Nothing brings in the money like an Adamantite."

"Tch, you're just upset that a copper plate did what you couldn't, and that Julia-san won't touch your dirty cock," Crispus bit back.

"Hahaha! And a dirty thing it is!" Cassander bellowed, making sure to place his hand on Jugurtha's shoulder, though only to stop the man from physically lashing out at the boy.

"Oh!" Exclaimed Numidicus, "you're back earlier than the usual, leader…eh, what's that frown on your face all about?"

Crispus darted his head to welcome the leader of the workers but was concerned that she had a scowl on her face. He immediately regretted his previous words and felt his mouth run dry, ashamed of his behavior. Evidently, he thought, she had grown livid that one of her comrades had been insulted.

The arcane magic caster paid him no heed. Instead, she bit her lower lip, as if struggling to say her piece. "Bad news," she began while straightening out her tawny, colored robe. It was a low-cut, short-sleeved garment that was more risque than practical. The gown had massive slits on either side of the knee length skirt, which exposed her legs up to the hip. The light fabric left her shoulders, collarbone, and back bare. Thin frills decorated the sleeves while black, leather boots with slightly raised heels led up to fishnet stockings that continued up her pale legs. Blonde tresses of hair cascaded just past her shoulders and swayed as she shook her head in a gesture wrought with disappointment.

Crispus could feel the tip of his ears burn a new. The sight of the magic caster threw him off. She seemed flustered, and her cheeks were tinted the faintest shade of pink. Still, he couldn't help but question her choice of attire.

"Well, spit it out already. Did we get the job again or not?" Jugurtha demanded impatiently. He was prepared to leave this place. Ready to journey to E-Rantel and blow off some steam.

For a second, Crispus thought the mayor had overstepped his bounds once more, judging by her shy demeanor.

"We got the job, partly, anyway," she continued. "We'll escort our client to E-Rantel as planned, but he wants some extra help when we escort him back home."

"Extra help?" Eras questioned after a moment.

"Hm, he wants to 'put an end to the problem,' is how he worded it."

"…And the pay?" Cassander pressed.

"Split, I'm afraid. We won't be able to make as much as we originally planned," Valeria said, clearly discontent with the new arrangement.

Though it wasn't just her, Crispus noted. In fact, he saw that the news of a lower compensation had jaded everyone's mood rather significantly. Suddenly, he felt it prudent to dismiss himself; only he wasn't sure how to gather the courage necessary to disrupt the growing tension.

"Pissing hell," Jugurtha seethed, "…and who does that idiot have in mind?"


	2. Alea Jacta Est

**Alea Jacta Est**

The goblin on the roof was the first to die. In the distance, he was no more than a vague shadow in the fading dusk as he crouched down by a chimney over one hundred meters away. But as the sun receded beneath the mountains, the creature began to stir, stretch, and finally stood to greet the darkness. Momon's sword took him in the chest, the blade piercing entirely through flesh and bone as if cutting through a stalk of rye. The goblin, shaken and caught unawares, tumbled lifelessly down the steep, slate pitch and fell with a loud thud down to earth. The noise carried far in the silence of the night, and soon the whole horde of hideous monsters perked their ears in curiosity, not yet aware that one of their own had departed the world.

The head of the tribe had set multiple sentries to keep a close eye on the dirt-laden road and the forest to the north. But their numbers were few and disorderly, leaving the village unguarded and porous. Momon had already crept close by the time he launched into the air, his one remaining sword resting tightly in his hand. He descended in a blur of steel and found a pair of goblins with crude weaponry still strapped to their backs. The two barely laid eyes on the armored clad adventurer before their vision swam. The heavens inverted with the earth as a cold blade cut through their throats in one clean stroke. By the time their heads fell at Ainz's feet, there was a cry of alarm by the goblins huddled near a fire in the central square.

One of the creatures stumbled to his feet and let the flames lick his leg. He released a painful screech as his ragged clothes took fire, and that was the end of subtlety. Another goblin shouted in alarm, and the rest moved forward to attack in earnest.

A few hundred meters off, Nabe watched as events unfolded on the crest of a wooded ridge that overlooked the small settlement. Brushtree, the village was called, though the battle maid did not think it warranted such a designation. The hamlet consisted of eight tumbledown, three-room domiciles of unmortared stone that were roofed with sod, the windows shuttered with tattered pieces of hide. They all surrounded an empty granary and a pig den while an adjacent brook streamed down from the Great Forest of Tob. The large wood loomed over the settlement with an ominous air, shadows stirring from its depths. And beyond the trees, she spied the bulking figure of an ogre arise that meant to cowardly strike at her master's back. Before the ogre could so much as to get close, however, a spray of blood erupted from its forearm as a snake-like appendage freed the limb from the ogre's body, yielding yet another growl of pain to permeate the night.

By now the western horizon glowed a faint violet, and overhead a half moon gleamed through low, scuttling clouds. A cold wind blew, and Nabe could hear the continued cries of agony as they disseminated along with the rush of the brook, the rivulet now tainted with blood as another ogre's body fell deafly upon it. There was also a faint smell of rain in the air, but no drops were falling as of yet.

A few arrows flew at her master but bounced harmlessly off his armor. Before he could dispatch the archers hiding within the houses, however, Ainz's attention was drawn to the three bugbears that entered the fray. They were hairy, feral beasts that stood nearly seven feet tall and were donned in gear no doubt purloined from fallen enemies, tattered and in disrepair as they were. A thick hide encased their form, and their coarse bundle of hair swayed as powerful muscles stretched underneath. The humanoid monsters came bursting from the dark shroud of the woods; halberds wielded high. One of them died at once. Another managed to duck and save its head, but Momon's blade left its mark, as it ripped through its shoulder, severing muscle, tendons, and nerves alike. The bugbear staggered, but only for a moment, till another quick blow found and slit its breastplate as if it was made of silk instead of boiled leather, ending its life as the steel sunk deep.

Meanwhile, the last of the three creatures swung its halberd with all of its strength in a horizontal arc, a desperate act driven by hate and alarm. Once again, Hamsuke came from behind and saved her master the trouble, and soon all the beasts lay slain while pools of crimson began to litter the battlefield. The archers appeared again, but no sooner had they loosed their arrows than Ainz was upon them. One of the projectiles managed to rattle of his helm, but the goblins were finished a short moment later.

Even from a distance, Nabe could sense all conviction drain from the remainder of the creatures. Between the death of the strongest amongst them, and the two foes that had slain them, their eyes clouded in a haze of panic and primordial terror. The night was fast upon them, they knew—just as well that they would never live to see the dawn. It was then that the entirety of the tribe erupted into wails of despair and broke into a rout. All of the non-combatants, females and young pups, boiled out of the houses like desperate ants caught amid a torrential rain shower. Most of them rushed in the direction of the forest, almost as if it were a sanctuary of sorts. The last of the combatants trembled at the knees, and whether it be due to fear or a pulse of madness, a few stood their ground and raised their shaggy, brown shields high, while others lifted their swords in a final act of desperation.

 _Foolish_ , thought Nabe as the darkness thickened and the screams intensified. The shield bearers' fell with a grunt, their limbs severed in an instant, and they were soon drowning and dying in their blood. Those who raised their weapons found that their blades were brittle and useless as the steel cringed and severed into pieces as a dark sword cleaved through them. Finally, the stride of the females and pups came to a quick halt, their short limbs unable to deliver them from certain death. The swift blade gleamed in the night and danced, kissed flesh, spun and kissed again, over and over, until there was no more blood to spend. Only after the eerie silence descended was the battle concluded.

Lightning split the northern sky, etching the mountains in the distance against the dark-grey horizon. Five heartbeats later came the thunder, like a distant drummer. A cold gust blew from the hills and with it, the flame of the central square swayed and shivered.

Narberal Gamma could feel the peasant girl next to her shiver as well.

She was a young one, to be sure, perhaps no older than ten or eleven years of age. An ugly dress of lambs' wool trimmed with lace hugged her form. Her sleeves and bodice were ragged and dirt ridden, tearing at the seams. And on her feet were russet, doeskin slippers with weathered soles and visible toes. Her face was pale as a corpse, bloodless. Her amber locks partially hid her dark hazel eyes, but still one could see the tears and apprehension reflected in their depths as her shoulders trembled. The carnage below was too much for her, it seemed, and she turned her wary gaze to the battle maid in search of reprieve.

 _The face of a child_ , Nabe recalled, remembering the words her master had used to describe the girl when they had stumbled upon her a day prior.

Darkness found her unconscious form partly hidden amongst the brush alongside one of the dirt roads. She was thin, dirty, and utterly incapable of forming coherent sentences when she first awoke. The sight of Hamsuke especially unnerved her, and it took almost a half hour to appease the girl's fear. It was after she ate and drank her fill that she seemed convinced that she was safe. And while Nabe held her life in little regard, she did appreciate the submissiveness the young girl exuded towards the Supreme One. In response to his inquiries, of who she was and where she came from, the child would habitually address him as her master at every opportunity, always bowing and asking for forgiveness for prior doubts towards his intentions. It was an appropriate sign of humility that was often lacking amongst humans. Nonetheless, the fact remained that the human was ultimately a hindrance, and perhaps, something far more troublesome, her master had mused.

"Momon-sama is expecting us. Come, we must not keep him waiting," Nabe curtly said.

The girl was visibly startled as if not expecting the battle to have ended so quickly. "Are all the m-monsters gone…truly?" There was genuine doubt in her voice as if she expected further creatures to burst forth from one of the houses. She inched closer to the battle maid and in fear tugged at Nabe's plain, brown cloak.

The maid's ire rose in response to the touch, but she bit her tongue and instead gave the girl a gentle shove forward. "Momon-sama gave you his word that he would keep you safe. Move, or I'll leave you behind."

Reluctantly, the girl did so. The stench of death was drawing closer with every step forward.

-Henupenko


End file.
